jn  the  $an  Benito  frills 


Etc. 

A.  SUNNISON 


BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 
•> 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


Etc. 


-BY. 


6H4RLES  i 


V 


A    < 


PRESS  OF 

COMMERCIAL  PUBLISHING  Co. 

34  CALIFORNIA  ST.    S.  F. 


TO  MY 

LITTLE  COUSIN  AND  GODSON 
FREDERICK     GUNNISON     ASTWOOD 

OF 

SEA  VIEW,   WARWICK, 
BERMUDA. 

1891. 


?  C  •-"> 


I  offer  all  my  heart  in  pure  devotion 

To  the  fair,  changing  sea; 
I  love  her  calms,  her  rage,  her  fierce  commotion, 

Each  ripple  charmeth  me. 

In  far  Bermuda,  by  the  sea  surrounded, 

My  grandsire,  long  ago, 
As  sea-birds  build  their  nests,  his  lone  home  founded 

Where  the  salt  breezes  blow. 

It  is  his  blood,  touched  by  the  brine  of  the  ocean, 

Stays  longest  in  my  heart, 
And  then  flows  out  to  thrill  with  fond  emotion 

In  every  living  part. 

I  long  to  see  the  forms  of  those  who  linger 

Still  by  that  sea-girt  nest 
Calling  with  ever  homeward-beckoning  finger 

The  wanderer  of  the  west. 


ir)  frje 


ilf©    JIllls. 


"Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood, 

When  the  mavis  and  merle  are  singing, 

When  the  deer  sweeps  by  and  the  hounds  are  in  cry, 
And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing." 

It  was  a  Friday  afternoon  in  summer  at  John  Fer- 
nald's  ranch.  The  stalwart  miner,  his  pretty  little 
wife  Mary,  and,  of  course,  the  baby — for  that  had 
been  omnipresent  since  its  arrival — had  been  to  the 
woods  to  shoot  quail. 

Half  a  flozen  had  been  the  reward,  and  merrily 
now  the  hunters  were  walking  toward  home,  where 
Mary  was  already  picturing  herself  broiling  the  de- 
licious game,  and  John  had  a  mental,  life-size  pic- 
ture of  himself  eating  it,  while  even  little  John  look- 
ed as  though  he  had  a  full  set  of  teeth,  so  thoroughly 
he  entered  into  the  general  hilarity,  making  a  crow- 


—  8  — 

ing  noise  as  his  big  father  carried  him  Indian-fashion 
on  his  back,  singing: 

"Oh,  Robin  Hood  was  a  bowman  good, 

And  a  bowman  good  was  he, 
And  he  met  a  maiden  in  merry  Sherwood, 

All  under  the  greenwood  tree." 

Mary  skipped  along  by  his  side  more  like  the 
merry  maid  of  old  Robin's  days  than  a  dignified 
matron. 

These  moments  of  supreme  happiness  are,  alas, 
too  few  in  most  of  our  lives,  but  this  young  pair  had 
many  of  them,  and,  though  far  from  neighbors,  had 
found  no  such  thing  as  loneliness  in  the  San  Benito 
Hills. 

Their  lives  were  as  full  of  brightness  as  the  land- 
scape was  of  those  golden  poppies  which  we  Califor- 
nians  love  so  well,  and  which  the  book-learned, 
spindle-legged  professors  from  the  States  vainly  try 
to  make  us  call  by  that  ugly,  German-Latin  name 
with  a  Russian  look. 

"  'Now  give  me  a  kiss'  quoth  Robin  Hood, 

'Now  give  me  a  kiss'  quoth  he, 
'For  there  never  came  maid  into  merry  Sherwood, 
'But  she  paid  the  forester's  fee.' " 

Then  this  new  Robin  Hood  took  his  fee  from  Mary 
and  from  little  John  when  they  reached  the  kitchen- 
door.  The  quail  were  soon  dressed  and  broiling. 


OF 


Little  John  was  playing  in  a  serious  sort  of  fashion 
with  the  black  top-knots,  and  big  John  cleaned  his 
shot-gun. 

How  the  butter  sizzled  as  it  fell  on  the  brown 
breasts  of  the  six  plump  fellows  lying  on  the  gridiron! 
How  each  draught  from  the  kitchen,  laden  with 
incense  to  Diana  the  Huntress,  was  sweeter  than 
laurel  or  jasmine  to  the  healthy  nostrils  of  that  happy 
family!  They  wanted  no  pepsin  orpeptonized  wine, 
no  aids  to  digestion. 

Youth,  health,  happiness,  were  theirs".  God  be 
praised! 

Thus  this  day  closed  like  many  another,  full  to 

overflowing  with  sunshine.  . 

#  *  #  # 

"Oh,  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be, 
Oh,  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be, 
Oh,  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be, 
Johnny  so  long  at  the  fair?" 

And  Mary  Fernald,  sitting  at  her  kitchen -door, 
rocked  her  baby-boy  in  his  cradle,  while  she  search- 
ingly  gazed  down  the  path  which  led  to  the  dusty 
road. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  beautiful  picture,  that  mother  of 
a  year,  dressed  neatly  in  her  printed  cotton  gown, 
all  her  household  duties  finished  for  the  day,  sitting 
in  the  half-light  of  the  door-way,  with  the  hazy  land- 


10   

scape  lighted  by  the  sun  just  dropping  behind  the 
manzanita-covered  hills. 

The  day  had  been  the  first  on  which  Mary  had 
been  left  alone,  for  John  Fernald  had  always  taken 
her  with  him  the  few  times  he  had  been  to  town 
since  two  years  before,  when  Mary,  fresh  from  her 
New  England  home,  had  come  to  live  at  his  ranch 
in  the  San  Benito. 

Little  John  was,  of  course,  too  small  to  travel,  and 
so,  with  many  good-byes  and  good  wishes,  big  John 
had  gone  for  the  day  to  San  Juan  Bautista,  some 
twenty  miles  away,  to  buy  needed  farming  tools. 

Though  Mary  did  not  expect  him  until  after  dark, 
she  found  herself  beginning  to  look  down  toward  the 
San  Juan  Road  long  before  the  sun  had  cast  western 
shadows  under  the  madrona  before  the  house. 

"If  I  do  not  reach  home  by  nine  o'clock/'  John 
had  sai'd,  "you  may  know  that  I  have  stayed  in 
town." 

It  was  twilight  up  to  eight  o'clcok,  and  Mary 
waited  at  the  door  until  the  last  colors  disappeared 
from  the  sky,  before  she  lighted  the  lamp.  Once 
the  sound  of  wagon-wheels  made  her  heart  beat  joy- 
fully, but  the  wagon  passed. 

She  was  not  a  timid  woman,  but  the  idea  of  being 
left  for  a  night  in  the  lonely  ranch-house  without 
John  was  not  pleasant.  The  desperado  and  bandit 


Vasquez  was  then  in  full  power,  and  though  he  was 
last  heard  of  in  the  Santa  Cruz  Mountains,  his 
marches  were  so  swift  and  in  such  unthought  of  di" 
rections,  that  his  very  name  carried  fear  through  a 
large  tract  of  country  where  he  had  not  as  yet  ap- 
peared. John's  rifle  hung  in  the  kitchen,  and  Mary, 
who  well  understood  its  use,  took  it  down  and  care- 
fully examined  it,  then  placed  it  in  a  convenient 
position,  while  she  lay  down,  dressed,  on  the  bed 
by  the  now  sleeping  baby. 

*  #  #  # 

John  made  his  purchases,  not  forgetting  one  of 
Mary's  orders,  and  adding  to  them  a  neat,  woolen 
gown  and  a  cart  for  little  John.  The  horses  were 
weary,  for  the  distance  from  San  Juan  Bautista  was 
all  up  hill,  so  John  drove  slowly  along,  as  he  had 
scarcely  a  mile  farther  and  it  was  not  half-past  eight,, 

"And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve, 
And  fare  thee  weel  for  awhile; 

And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 

Though  it  were  ten  thousand  miles." 

Had  John's  thoughts  not  been  at  the  end  of  the 
journey  with  Mary  and  the  baby  at  that  moment,  he 
had  surely  heard  the  step  of  a  horse  behind  him,  as 
he  drove  into  the  willow-shaded  stretch  of  road  by 
the  Arroyo  Seco. 

The  last  words  of  the  song  had  hardly  been  ut- 


tered  when  he  was  violently  seized  from  behind,  his 
arms  tied,  a  gag  pressed  between  his  teeth,  and  a 
lariat  wound  around  his  legs.  About  a  dozen  men 
were  soon  around  the  wagon,  all  speaking  in  under- 
tones and  in  the  Spanish  tongue. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  one. 

"The  American  who  has  the  Guadeloupe  Rancho," 
was  the  reply. 

"Search  him  and  leave  him  here  in  the  willows. 
Drive  the  wagon  off  the  road  and  take  the  horses; 
they  are  good." 

These  orders  were  quickly  obeyed,  and  John,  as 
helpless  as  little  John,  was  rolled  into  the  reeds  by 
.he  roadside. 

"Shall  we  go  to  the  ranch-house?"  asked  one. 

"Yes;  but  one  of  you  will  be  enough.  There  is 
only  a  woman  and  a  child  there.  You  go,  Jose, 
and  bring  us  all  the  food  on  a  pack-horse." 

With  all  his  strength  John  tried  to  break  his  bonds, 
but  to  no  purpose,  and  the  gag  kept  him  silent.  It 
was  a  time  of  agony  to  him  as  the  party  drove  away 
as  silently  as  they  had  come.  John  had  expected 
them  to  shoot  him  or  carry  him  away  captive,  for 
without  doubt  the  band  was  that  of  the  notorious 
Vasquez. 

However,  life  was  spared,  and  in  his  heart  he  gave 


thanks   to   the  Almighty,  praying  God  to  save  his 
Mary  and  little  one  from  harm. 

#  *  *  # 

Mary,  by  the  side  of  her  boy,  had  fallen  asleep; 
she  had  thought  to  remain  awake  until  John  might 
possibly  come,  but  sleep  overcame  her. 

From  pleasant  dreams  she  was  suddenly  awakened 
by  a  step  upon  the  porch.  Her  first  thought  was  of 
John. 

"Who  is  there?"  she  cried. 

"No  matter  who,"  was  the  reply;  "open  the 
door." 

"I  shall  not." 

"There  is  no  man  in  the  house,  I  know,  and  I 
shall  break  it  in." 

The  answer  to  this  speech  was  the  report  of  a  rifle, 
and  the  ruffian  gave  a  cry  of  pain  as  the  bullet  cut 
his  arm.  Man  or  no  man,  Mary  Fernald,  thanks  to 
John's  instructions,  could  defend  herself  when  ne- 
cessity came.  Presently  the  rapid  steps  of  a  gal- 
loping horse  were  heard  going  down  hill. 

"Thank  heaven  that  I  have  not  killed  him,"  were 
Mary's  first  words;  "it  would  be  awful  to  have  the 
door-stone  of  our  home  stained  with  blood,  even 
though  justly  shed.  I  should  have  aimed  lower," 
she  added,  as  she  looked  at  the  bullet-hole  in  the 
redwood  panel,  just  breast-high. 


-14- 

"He  may  come  back  with  others!"  Mary  Fernald 
knelt  beside  her  baby,  who  already  slept,  though 
wakened  by  the  familiar  sound  of  the  rifle,  and 
prayed  for  strength. 

It  was  too  late,  she  knew,  for  John  to  come  that 
night,  and  she  thought  how  happy  would  be  their 
greeting  in  the  moring  when  shei  would  fall  safe  for- 
ever into  his  strong  arms. 

Several  times  she  heard  sounds  which  startled  her, 
and  even  the  wind,  which  moved  the  madrona 
branches  against  the  roof,  caused  her  to  shudder. 

The  sound  of  horses  tramping  on  the  San  Juan 
Road  startled  her  once,  and  later  the  unmistakable 
creaking  of  the  garden-gate,  followed  by  a  stealthy 
movement  upon  the  porch,  less  suggesting  that  of  a 
man  than  that»of  some  large,  wild  animal. 

Presently  the  door  shook  as  if  it'  would  break  from 
its  hinges  as  the  heavy  body  pushed  against  it.  Mary 
stared  with  terror,  holding  the  rifle  aimed  at  the 
lower  panel.  A  second  assault  followed,  accom- 
panied by  a  low,  guttural  sound — half  hissing. 

Sharp  and  quick  rang  out  the  rifle  again.  The 
house  seemed  to  shake.  From  the  door  came  a  cry 
half-human,  awful  to  hear  in  its  agony.  Mary  fell 
upon  her  knees,  covering  her  face  in  the  clothes  be- 
side the  frightened,  wailing  little  John. 


Oh,  what  will  John  think  when  he  comes  in  the 
morning?  I  must  meet  him  down  the  road  by  the 
willows  to  spare  him  the  fright." 

The  sun  shines  as  warm  on  San  Benito  Hills  to- 
day as  it  did  that  morning  when  Mary  Fernald  rose 
from  her  prayers  to  go  down  the  road  to  meet  her 
loving  John. 

The  awful  and  unknown  object  which  lay  on  the 
porch  must  be  passed,  but  she  was  nerved  to  open 
the  door  when  she  thought  of  John's  fright  when  he 
should  find  what  had  occured  and  not  see  her  first. 

"Yes,  how  brave  he  will  call  me.  He  will  call 
me  his  little  home  guard." 

The  door  turned  into  the  kitchen;  she  stood  ir- 
resolutely for  one  moment  and  then  opened  it. 

Mary  stood  as  petrified  at  the  door Oh,  God 

in  heaven!  I  can  scarce  bring  my  pen  to  write. 

With  that  one  glance  went  out  forever  her  love, 
her  soul,  her  God.  She  fell  upon  the  threshold 
with  a  moan. 

Bound  and  gagged,  John  Fernald  had  crawled  to 
his  door  over  the  rough,  sharp  stones,  and  there 
upon  the  porch  lay  in  his  eternal  rest  with  a  bullet 
through  his  heart. 


irje,  C)l)©pe    0|   il)e   C)e<a    o| 


I  hear  the  sea  bird's  beating  wing 

Upon  the  silver,  sunlit  sea 
I  hear  her  beat,  beat  steadily, 

Counting  the  passing  time  may  be, 
Until  she  rests  from  laboring. 

I  see  the  fisher's  little  boat 

Slow-gliding  on  with  measured  oar 
Until  her  keel  grates  on  the  shore, 

To  rest  in  peace,  to  sail  no  more, 
No  more  in  currents  wild  to  float. 

I  hear  the  distant  moan  of  waves 
I  see  the  shadows  of  the  clouds; 

The  sea-mews  pass  in  wailing  crowds; 
The  far  off  breakers  seem  like  shrouds, 

For  in  the  sea  are  many  graves. 

But  there  is  rippling  laughter  too 
Along  the  shelly,  shining  sand, 

My  face  by  loving  winds  is  fanned, 
Thy  waters  leap  to  kiss  my  hand 

Oh,  merry  sea  of  white  and  blue. 

Thus  do  I  sit  upon  the  shore 
And  hear  the  music  of  the  sea, 

While  everything  seemeth  to  be 
A  clock  that  ticks  incessantly 

Counting  till  time  shall  be  no  more. 


You're  a  dandy,  you're  a  daisy 
Rudyard,  were  I  not  so  lazy 
I  would  write  in  elegiacs 
Four  score  thousand  lines  of  praise. 
Thank  your  stars  I  was  born  tired; 
Though  my  soul  by  song  is  fired 
I  am  far  to  weary  Rudyard 
For  to  fan  it  to  a  blaze. 

But  I  love  you  for  your  muscle, 
And  the  never-ending  bustle 
You've  kicked  up  in  one  short  journey 
Through  our  "God  Almighty"  land, 
By  the  much  deserved,  sharp  spanking 
You  have  given  us,  and  thanking 
You  for  all  those  stories  stolen, 
Compliment  you  on  your  sand. 

Glad  you  knocked  Chicago  silly, 
She  deserved  it,  rampant  filly, 
Saying  that  she  heads  this  nation 
But  you  found  her  place  of  rank, 
Though  our  land  be  fair  as  Venus, 
(Here's  a  little  joke  between  us,) 
She's  the  middle  of  the  country 
And  the  proper  place  to  spank! 


'•\  H  / 


Should  the  poor  beggar,  while  fierce  hunger  gnaws, 
Buy  with  his  penny  one  sweet  loaf  of  bread, 

Or  chance  a  lottery  which  in  future  draws 
Some  golden  treasure,  when,  he  being  dead, 

Can  only  buy  his  bones  a  marble  bed? 

Should  weary  souls,  here  being  slaved  each  day, 
Wait  the  uncertain  rest  of  future  life, 

Or  purchase  with  the  all  they  have  to  pay, 
Some  brief  oblivion  from  the  endless  strife, 

Where  words  and  looks  pierce  deeper  than  the  knife? 

Was  not  the  pottage,  starving  Esau  bought, 
Better  to  him  than  all  his  father's  lands? 

Against  the  food,  his  birthright  weighed  for  naught; 
That  moment  when  the  basin  touched  his  hands 

Was  worth  an  hour-glass  of  ruby  sands. 


1  o^  ©  <ys^eiy  0I 


i. 

It  was  a  stormy  night  that  of  my  first  visit  to  Re- 
gensheim,  the  wind  howled  and  the  rain  beat  most 
furiously  against  the  carriage  windows  as  I  drove  up 
the  main  street  by  the  Rathhaus  and  alighted  weary 
and  hungry  at  the  door  of  the  Red  Horse  Inn. 

The  Red  Horse  Inn  was  the  best  in  Regensheim, 
which  was  but  a  small  town  and  could  not  support 
a  very  elaborate  hotel;  however  uninviting  the  old, 
weather-beaten  house  appeared  from  without,  the 
cosy  guest  room  with  the  great  tile  stove  in  the  cor- 
ner and  the  row  of  clean  beer  glasses  with  their 
brightly  polished  pewter  covers  hanging  upon  the 
pegs  along  the  wall  made  one  feel  wonderfully  cheer- 
ful especially  with  such  a  storm  tearing  away  with- 
out and  knocking  at  the  window  shutters. 


20   

The  host's  daughter  brought  me  my  half  liter  of 
beer  and  placing  it  upon  the  little  felt  mat  before  me 
with  a  prettily  spoken,  "May  it  taste  well/'  returned 
to  her  seat  by  the  tile  stove,  and  resumed  her  knit- 
ting. 

There  was  a  wooden  clock  on  the  wall,  one  of 
those  neat  cuckoo  clocks  from  the  Black  Forest,  and 
the  little  bird  had  just  gone  back  into  his  house  as  if 
he  were  angry  to  see  us  still  sitting  up  although  at 
his  last  appearance  he  had  given  nine  warning  notes 
for  bed  time.  He  had  just  gone  back  with  a  snap, 
as  I  said,  when  the  stamping  of  horses  and  the  grat- 
ing of  wheels  were  heard  at  the  door  and  presently 
the  host  ushered  into  the  room  a  tall  man  with  a 
heavy  black  cloak;  his  appearance  was  foreign  and 
after  he  had  been  in  the  room  a  short  time  I  discov- 
ered that  he  spoke  but  little  German  and  was  a 
Frenchman. 

He  sat  at  the  same  table  with  me  and  ordered 
wine  which  was  brought  by  the  host  who  also  placed 
a  glass  for  himself  at  the  invitation  of  the  stranger. 
The  Frenchman  carried  over  his  shoulder  a  leather 
traveling  pocket  which  he  took  oft"  after  hanging  up 
his  coat.  He  threw  the  pocket  upon  a  bench  in  the 
corner,  where  it  fell  heavily  and  gave  out  a  sound  as 
if  it  were  filled  with  coin.  I  noticed  the  host  look 
at  it  with  a  side  casting  of  his  eye,  and  then  looking 


21 


at  the  stranger  from  under  his  bushy  brows.  "Rather 
a  heavy  bag  that,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Frenchman,  in  his  broken 
German,  "It  is  heavy,  indeed  and  I  must  watch  it 
carefully  for  it  contains  a  good  weight  of  Austrian 
gold  which  I  must  bring  all  the  way  to  Paris.  I  did 
not  catch  the  through  train  and  so  will  stop  over  here 
till  morning  when  the  Paris  Express  leaves  Nurem- 
berg, where  I  shall  go  and  take  it.  I  should  have 
gone  through  to  Nuremberg  to-night  but  the  storm 
was  too  severe." 

"The  distance  is  short  and  can  be  made  very 
quickly,"  answered  the  host. 

I  had  disliked  the  host  of  the  Red  Horse  from  the 
first  moment  I  met  him;  he  was  a  short,  thin  man  of 
about  fifty  years  of  age,  his  hair  was  jet  black  and 
very  course,  growing  low  upon  his  forehead.  His 
complexion  was  sallow,  excepting  his  large  hooked 
nose,  which  seemed  doubtful  whether  it  were  a  nose 
or  a  carbuncle,  so  red  and  glowing  was  it.  His  eyes 
were  small  and  shaded  by  bushy  brows  and  he  had 
a  habit  of  looking  at  your  feet  when  talking  with  you 
and  if  by  accident  you  caught  his  eyes,  he  would 
immediately  lower  them.  He  was  closely  shaven 
which  rendered  his  appearance  yet  more  disagree- 
able as  it  gave  full  play  to  his  broad  mouth  which 
had  a  nervous  twitching  about  it,  and  he  had  a  way 


22  

of  fingering  his  throat  while  talking,  making  you  feel 
as  if  he  were  itching  to  get  his  hand  on  your  own 
windpipe. 

The  stranger  drank  much  wine,  which  however 
did  not  affect  him  at  all,  it  being  one  of  the  light 
wines  of  the  Main  vineyards. 

Though  asked  a  number  of  times  to  join  in  the  wine 
I  kept  to  my  beer,  not  caring  to  mix  them  knowing 
the  result  next  day  must  be  a  headache.  I  retired 
about  half  past  eleven  and  was  lighted  to  my  cham- 
ber which  was  on  the  second  floor,  above  the  bar  or 
guest  room.  The  room  was  a  large  square  one  con- 
taining two  beds,  both  together  hardly  large  enough 
to  make  one  good  sized  one  at  home;  there  was  a 
lounge  on  one  side,  and  a  number  of  wooden  chairs 
about  the  room,  and  a  center  table  where  the  can- 
dle stood. 

There  were  two  prints  on  the  wall,  one  of  Andre- 
as Hofer  led  to  execution  and  the  other  of  a  funeral 
service  in  prison;  these  two  cheerless  pictures  were 
the  only  decorations  excepting  a  couple  of  chamoise 
heads  in  plaster  of  Paris.  There  was  no  carpet  on 
the  floor,  as  is  the  custom  throughout  Bavaria,  but 
it  was  as  white  as  possible  and  divided  into  squares 
with  cross  pieces  of  dark  wood. 

The  walls  were  covered  with  a  flowered  paper  and 
the  ceiling  was  pure  white,  a  most  glaring,  spotless 


2  *J    

white;  so  noticeable  was  this  whiteness,  that  I  could 
not  keep  from  looking  at  it  in  particular;  while  get- 
ting ready  for  bed,  my  eyes  would  continually  seek 
the  white  ceiling  which  seemed  to  have  a  brightness 
of  its  own,  aside  from  the  candle  light,  and  after  the 
light  was  extinguished  I  saw  it  bare  and  white  in  the 
darkness. 

From  the  window  I  could  see  that  the  storm  was 
almost  over  and  between  the  fast  hurrying  clouds, 
the  stars  would  now  and  then  peep  out.  I  watched 
these  clouds  passing  until  I  fell  off  into  a  gentle 
doze,  which  lasted  I  do  not  know  how  long,  but  I 
was  not  roused  from  it  until  I  heard  some  one  try 
my  door  and  then  muttering  in  a  low  voice  go  to 
the  next  room  and  enter  closing  the  door  with  a 
slam,  but  I  did  not  hear  the  lock  turn.  Presently 
I  heard  a  heavy  thud  which  was  repeated.  I  recog- 
nized the  sound  as  the  same  the  stranger's  traveling 
pocket  had  made  when  he  threw  it  on  the  bench  in 
the  guest  room,  and  knew  then  that  he  occupied  the 
next  room  to  me,  He  evidently  threw  the  pocket 
on  the  table  and  it  had  fallen  to  the  floor  making 
the  second  sound.  I  soon  heard  him  get  into  the 
little  creaking  bed,  and  before  long  he  was  fast 
asleep  as  I  could  tell  by  his  hard  breathing  which  I 
could  distinctly  hear. 

I  soon  fell  into  a  sleep  again  myself,  despite  the 


—  24  — 

uncomfortable  shortness  of  the  bedstead  and  the 
wonderful  propensity  the  feather  bed  showed  for  fall- 
ing on  the  floor. 

While  I  was  yet  asleep  I  heard  groans  which  be- 
came part  of  my  dream,  but  as  I  gradually  gained 
consciousness,  I  knew  that  they  proceeded  from  the 
next  room,  but  after  I  was  fully  awake  I  heard  no 
more  and  all  was  still  as  ever. 

In  a  few  moments  I  heard  the  bells  of  the  Rath- 
haus  ring  and  a  shrill  whistle  four  times  repeated,  so 
I  knew  it  was  just  two  o'clock;  for  it  has  been  the 
custom  in  Regensheim  for  nine  hundred  years  or 
more,  to  ring  the  bells  at  2  A.  M.  and  2  p.  M.  and 
every  hour  the  watchman  or  his  wife  whistles  from 
the  four  sides  of  the  tower,  to  the  north,  east,  south 
and  west.  I  now  lay  wide  awake,  listening  for  an- 
other sound,  for  I  did  not  think  what  I  had  heard 
could  authorize  me  to  go  to  the  next  room,  or  to 
waken  the  landlord,  for  it  might  after  all  have  only 
been  a  dream,  or  the  stranger  have  been  troubled 
with  the  nightmare. 

I  lay  looking  up  at  the  luminous  ceiling,  when  pres- 
ently I  heard  a  noise  as  of  something  scratching. 
The  sound  came  from  the  ceiling  and  seemed  at 
first  to  be  in  the  opposite  corner  of  the  room,  and 
at  last  directly  above  my  bed.  I  could  plainly  hear 
a  footstep  advancing  cautiously  as  if  stepping  from 


—  25  - 

one  rafter  to  another;  then  there  came  a  prolonged 
rattling  just  over  my  head  and  then  the  sound  of  the 
steps  again;  I  listened  some  time  but  heard  no 
more. 

I  should  have  supposed  it  was  caused  by  rats  run- 
ning over  the  floor  of  the  attic,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  footsteps. 

The  noises  of  the  night,  the  stranger  with  the  gold, 
the  evil-looking  host  and  the  dreary  tavern  itself  all 
combined  to  raise  strange  and  disagreeable  fancies 
in  my  mind  and  I  longed  for  the  morning  to  come. 

I  slept  late,  until  almost  eight  o'clock,  for  I 
heard  the  little  cuckoo  in  the  guest  room  under  me 
call  out  that  hour  while  I  was  dressing. 

I  opened  the  window  to  let  in  the  fresh  morning 
air;  the  storm  was  well  over  and  not  a  cloud  was  to 
be  seen  in  the  sky. 

From  my  window  I  could  look  out  over  the  broad 
fields  of  Pegnitz  to  where  the  Franconian  Alps  rose 
blue  and  misty  in  the  distance,  the  great  mountain 
with  its  castle  at  Nuremberg  was  visible  and  the 
towns  and  spires  of  the  famous  city  stood  glittering 
in  the  sunlight;  the  level  valley  was  green  and  fresh 
after  the  rain  and  groups  of  peasant  houses  formed 
a  pretty  relief  on  its  surface,  with  here  and  there  a 
huge  linden  tree  and  the  silvery  network  of  little 
streams.  The  peasants  were  working  in  the  fields, 


—   26  — . 

while  in  those  meadows  nearest  the  town,  I  could 
see  the  robust  little  children  tending  the  flocks  of 
geese  or  playing  with  a  dog.  In  the  street  just  under 
my  window  sat  a  blind  woman  warming  herself  in 
the  sun  and  knitting  a  blue  yarn  stocking,  while  a 
little  golden-haired  child  in  a  red  frock  lay  asleep 
across  her  her  lap. 

I  dressed  slowly,  enjoying  the  beautiful  picture 
from  my  window  and  it  was  fully  nine  o'clock  when 
I  started  to  go  down  to  the  guest  room  to  my  break- 
fast. I  glanced  into  the  next  room  as  the  door  was 
open;  the  bed  clothing  had  all  been  removed  and  the 
floor  was  wet  as  was  also  the  whole  length  of  the 
hall,  while  a  pail  and  mop  stood  in  one  corner. 

I  staggered  as  the  awful  thought  flashed  over  me; 
the  ill-looking  host  had  murdered  the  stranger  for 
his  gold  and  they  had  just  washed  out  the  blood 
stains  from  the  floor. 

I  must  have  looked  pale  when  I  reached  the  guest 
room,  for  the  daughter  of  the  host  brought  me  a 
glass  of  schnaps  without  my  asking  it. 

"No,"  said  I  to  myself,  "this  pretty  girl  can 
know  nothing  of  the  awful  tragedy."  Then  aloud,  I 
asked,  "Has  the  French  gentleman,  who  came  last 
night,  yet  gone  to  Nuremburg?" 

"I  do  not  know,  sir,"  she  answered.  "I  have 
not  seen  him;  but  I  think  he  has  gone  for  father 


—  27  — 

went  to  the  city  and  they  must  have  gone  together. 
Father  often  takes  a  drive  with  the  guests,"  she  said 
and  laughed  to  herself.  "Your  carriage  is  ready  at 
the  door,  it  was  ordered  for  nine  o'clock.  You  will 
grive  us  the  honor  of  stopping  with  us  when  you  re- 
turn from  Hoheneck? 

I  drank  my  coffee  in  silence  and  dropped  the  girl 
a  silver  mark  when  I  left  the  house,  and  shivered  as 
I  entered  the  carriage,  thinking  of  the  awful  crime 
which  had  been  perpetrated  under  that  roof  by  the 
father  of  the  beautiful,  innocent  girl  who  stood  at 
the  door  bidding  me  adieu. 


II. 


I  spent  about  two  weeks  at  Hoheneck  Castle  with 
most  pleasant  company  but  1  could  not  drive  from 
my  mind  the  awful  occurrence  at  the  Red  Horse 
Inn. 

I  had  told  no  one  of  my  suspicions  for  I  had  no 
proofs  and  the  fear  of  making  myself  appear  ridicu- 
lous deterred  me  from  metioning  the  murder.  I  be- 
gan almost  to  feel  that  I  was  a  sort  of  accomplice  in 
the  crime  and  my  knowledge  weighed  heavily  on  my 
mind. 

I  made  many  inquiries  about  the  host  in  Regens- 
heim  and  all  I  learned  convinced  me  that  he  was  a 
man  capable  of  doing  anything  wrong,  even  to  the 
murdering  of  a  guest  if  he  could  be  the  gainer 
thereby. 

The  afternoon  was  bright  and  sunshiny,  when  I 
entered  Regensheim  for  the  second  time,  and  drove 
up  the  roughly  paved  street  to  the  inn.  There  had 
been  some  services  at  the  church  and  the  people 
were  just  going  home;  they  were  all  in  holiday  attire 
and  presented  a  pretty  sight  as  they  gaily  chattered 
and  laughed,  pausing  now  and  then  as  they  would 
meet  some  acquaintance. 


—  29  — 

Among  them,  I  noticed  the  pretty  daughter  of  the 
host  of  the  Red  Horse  Inn;  as  she  recognized  me, 
she  curtsied  and  I  returned  the  salute. 

It  seemed  a  pity  for  me  to  expose  her  father  and 
bring  disgrace  upon  this  innocent  child,  but  it  was 
plainly  my  duty  to  inform  the  police,  yet  I  decided 
to  wait  until  I  had  spent  one  more  night  at  the  inn 
and  had  had  a  conversation  with  the  host,  when  I 
could  mention  the  French  gentleman  and  observe 
his  face  attentively  to  see  if  it  disclosed  any  sign  by 
which  I  could  feel  more  sure  that  he  was  the  mur- 
derer. 

The  host  was  at  the  door  when  I  arrived  and  gave 
me  a  most  cordial  reception,  taking  my  luggage  to 
my  room;  I  did  not  go  up  stairs  with  him  but  en- 
tered the  guest  room  and  took  a  seat  at  the  table 
where  I  had  sat  the  first  night. 

The  room  was  quite  full  of  peasants,  both  men 
and  women,  who  were  drinking  beer  and  refreshing 
themselves,  after  the  long  sermon,  with  generous  al- 
lowances of  sausages  and  cheese  and  large  white 
radishes.  The  little  children,  even  the  babies  took 
their  beer  and  relished  it  greatly. 

They  were  all  very  merry,  and  the  rosy  waiter  girl 
who  helped  the  host's  daughter  was  kept  busy  run- 
ning back  and  forth  from  kitchen  and  cellar  with 
sausages  and  beer. 


—  3o  — 

I  spent  part  of  the  afternoon  in  the  guest  room 
and  also  took  a  long  walk  about  the  town  and  beside 
the  little  river.  In  the  morning  I  had  a  bottle  of  wine 
with  the  host;  he  seemed  to  be  very  merry  and  hap- 
py about  something  and  drank  much,  becoming  so 
boisterous  before  the  evening  had  scarce  begun,  (and 
I  had  not  mentioned  the  French  stranger,)  that  he 
inaugurated  a  dance  right  then  and  there,  and  a  fid- 
dler being  found  all  the  guests  joined  in  the  merry 
making. 

After  watching  them  awhile  and  being  too  low- 
spirited  and  thoughtful  to  enjoy  the  dance,  I  retired 
to  bed.  The  host's  daughter  lighted  the  way  for 
me,  and  what  was  my  surprise  and  horror  when  I 
was  ushered  into  the  very  room  which  had  been  oc- 
cupied by  the  French  gentleman.  I  asked  why  I 
did  not  have  the  same  room  I  had  had  before  and 
added  that  I  preferred  it. 

There  was  no  reason  she  said,  the  other  room  was 
unoccupied,  but  her  father  had  left  my  luggage  in 
this  room,  but  it  should  be  changed  immediately 
and  arranged  to  suit  me. 

The  bags  were  removed  and  placed  in  my  old 
room  where  I  felt  more  at  ease,  and  after  carefully 
locking  the  door  I  unpacked  my  luggage  and  got 
ready  for  bed. 


-  31  - 

The  room  was  very  close  and  filled  with  a  most 
disagreeable  odor  but  I  did  not  dare  to  open  the 
windows,  dreading  the  malaria  which  was  very  pre- 
valent in  that  part  of  Franconia.  The  noise  down 
stairs  continued  and  I  saw  no  chance  to  ever  getting 
to  sleep. 

Just  as  I  was  about  to  extinguish  the  candle,  I 
casually  glanced  up  at  the  ceiling  which  had  upon 
my  former  stay  attracted  my  particular  attention  on 
account  of  its  immaculate  whiteness;  it  had  the  same 
glaring  appearance  with  the  exception  that  just  over 
the  bed  was  a  stained  place  as  if  made  by  water 
leaking  through  the  roof;  it  had  a  brownish  color 
and  looked  damp;  the  stained  surface  was  about  six 
feet  in  length  and  not  more  than  two  feet  in  width. 

A  strange  idea  flashed  through  rny  mind  but  I 
tried  to  drive  it  off  for  it  was  too  awful  to  think  of. 
I  blew  out  the  candle  and  went  to  bed;  I  lay  some- 
time with  my  eyes  shut,  listening  to  the  laughing 
and  fiddling  going  on  beneath  me,  above  all  I  could 
hear  the  voice  of  the  host  and  it  made  me  shudder. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  it  was  very  dark,  for  I 
had  drawn  the  curtains;  turning  over  on  one  side  I 
saw  in  the  middle  of  the  room  or  rather  a  little 
nearer  my  bed  a  brilliant  yellow  flame,  it  did  not  il- 
luminate the  place  but  it  seemed  like  a  dead  light  or 
luminous  body  without  rays  if  such  a  thing  could  be. 


—  32  — 

I  gazed  at  it  in  wonder,  it  kept  perfectly  still,  it 
was  like  the  flame  of  a  candle  in  shape,  but  of  the 
size  of  my  hand.  I  had  forgotten  about  the  noise 
in  the  room  beneath  me,  I  was  so  interested  in  the 
tongue  of  flame  which  hung  so  mysteriously  by  my 
bedside. 

Suddenly  I  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  horror,  for  a  drop 
of  something  slimy  had  fallen  upon  my  face,  the 
awful  thought  which  had  flashed  though  my  mind 
when  I  saw  the  stained  spot  upon  the  ceiling  came 
again  and  I,  with  sickening  heart,  bathed  and  bathed 
again  my  face  in  water.  The  spot  where  the  drop  had 
fallen  seemed  to  burn  into  the  flesh.  I  knew  what 
that  moisture  must  be,  and  my  whole  frame  shook 
with  horror  and  disgust  at  the  revolting  idea. 

I  lighted  the  candle  and  looked  again  at  the  ceil- 
ing, another  drop  of  the  sickening  fluid  was  forming 
ready  to  fall  upon  the  bed.  I  dressed  myself  hur- 
riedly and  flung  open  the  windows  to  let  in  the  air, 
for  laden  with  malaria  as  it  was,  it  was  better  than 
the  awful  air  of  that  room  where  every  breath  was 
as  if  drawn  in  a  charnel-house. 

Yes,  it  was  only  too  true;  my  horrible  idea  was 
the  only  correct  one;  the  French  stranger,  whom  I 
had  met  here,  had  been  murdered  for  his  money 
and  his  body  had  been  dragged  into  the  attic  and 
laid  between  the  rafters  just  over  my  bed;  it  was  two 


—  33  — 

weeks  since  that  occurred  and  now  the  frighful, 
brown  stain  upon  the  ceiling  marked  the  place  where 
the  body  lay,  and  the  drop  that  had  fallen  upon  my 
face — oh  Heavens!  the  thought  almost  drove  me 
wild. 

I  seized  the  candle  and  rushed  from  the  room; 
along  the  passage  I  walked  till  I  came  to  door  at 
end,  which  I  carefully  opened  and  found  a  flight  of 
ladder-like  steps,  these  I  ascended  slowly  after  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  me. 

When  I  reached  the  attic  I  was  obliged  to  walk 
with  my  body  bent  almost  double,  as  the  beams  of 
the  roof  were  very  low.  The  room  which  was  as 
large  as  the  whole  width  and  length  of  the  house 
was  intensely  dark  and  the  little  flame  of  the  candle 
did  not  throw  a  light  very  far  around  it. 

The  flooring  was  simply  the  house  beams,  be- 
tween which  the  laths,  which  held  the  plastering  of 
the  ceilings  below,  were  visible;  a  low  of  boards  had 
been  laid  down  to  make  walking  less  difficult,  yet  in 
many  places,  I  had  to  step  from  beam  to  beam  very 
carefully. 

As  I  neared  the  farther  corner  under  which  my 
room  was  situated,  I  noticed  a  long,  white  object 
laying  between  the  beams  upon  the  laths;  as  I  drew 
nearer,  with  the  aid  of  my  candle  which  seemed  to 
lighten  up  the  gloom  slowly  as  if  it  had  to  eat  its 


—  34  — 

way  into  the  darkness,  I  saw  that  it  was  a  great  piece 
of  canvas  or  ducking  which  covered  some  object. 

I  now  noticed  the  same  odor  which  had  annoyed 
me  when  I  first  entered  my  room  that  evening; 
about  the  attic  were  many  boxes  and  pieces  of  old 
furniture;  beside  the  white  canvas  stood  a  couple  of 
barrels  and  against  one  them  leaned  a  great  club. 

My  heart  almost  ceased  beating  as  I  took  hold  of 
the  white  cloth  and  raised  it,  when  what  was  my  as- 
tonishment to  see  there,  not  one  human  body  as  I 
expected,  but  there,  laid  in  order  and  piled  one 
above  the  other,  were  ten  or  a  dozen  heads. 

I  could  not  look  longer.  I  did  not  count  them. 
I  let  fall  the  cloth  and  casting  a  glance  at  the  two 
barrels  learned  their  contents.  Trembling  so  that 
I  could  scarcely  carry  the  candle,  I  staggered  to  the 
door,  down  the  stairs  and  along  the  hallway  to  my 
room,  where  I  threw  myself  upon  the  lounge,  trem- 
bling as  if  with  a  chill. 

The  agony  I  endured  threw  me  into  perspiration 
and  I  fell  asleep,  but  every  few  moments  I  would 
start  and  shudder  again. 

I  lay  a  long  time  thinking  of  how  I  should  give 
information  and  finally,  though  whether  it  was 
justice  or  not  I  will  not  say,  perhaps  I  was  swayed 
by  the  thought  of  the  pretty,  innocent-looking  face 
of  the  host's  daughter,  I  decided  not  to  inform  the 


—  35  — 

authorities  of  what  I  had  discovered,  but  to  confront 
the  old  man  himself  and  then  he  could  surrender  to 
the  police. 

I  dressed  and  went  down  the  stairs;  the  landlord 
was  not  yet  up  when  I  entered  the  guest  room,  but 
his  daughter  was  there,  washing  the  beer  glasses 
which  had  been  used  the  night  before.  I  ordered 
the  carriage  to  be  ready  at  once  to  take  me  to  Nur- 
emberg and  ate  my  breakfast  hurriedly. 

The  girl  said  her  father  was  very  tired  and  would 
probably  sleep  till  noon,  so  I  did  not  awaken  him; 
I  left  a  short  note  telling  him  all  I  knew  and  urging 
him  to  repair  the  evil  which  had  been  done  already, 
if  that  were  possible.  I  did  not  mention  the  awful 
discovery  to  the  pretty,  innocent  maiden  who  stood 
by  my  side  as  I  was  leaving,  but  I  slipped  a  thaler  in 
her  hand  and  printed  a  kiss  upon  her  rosy  lips;  but 
I  shuddered  immediately  afterwards  for  I  felt  that  in 
one  way,  at  least,  innocent  as  she  appeared,  she  had 
much  to  do  with  the  mystery  of  the  Red  Horse  Imv 
*  #  #  # 

Three  months  later  I  was  in  Paris,  and  one  day 
walking  down  Boulevard  Hausmann  I  saw  before  my 
astonished  eyes  the  very  French  stranger  whom  I 
had  supposed  murdered  in  Regensheim.  He  did 
not  recognize  me  so  I  did  not  stop  him,  yet  I  drew  a 
\ong  breath  for  I  was  pleased  to  know  that  his  head 


had  not  been  one  of  the  heads  which  were  concealed 
in  the  attic  of  the  Red  Horse  Inn;  however,  it 
would  have  been  rather  strange  if  it  had  been,  for 
those  were  cabbage  heads  and  the  awful  contents  of 
the  barrel  was  sauer-kraut,  which,  having  leaked 
through,  had  stained  the  immaculate  ceiling  of  my 
room. 

Thus  is  the  mystery  of  the  Red  Horse  Inn  dis- 
solved. 


JJei  Joy  te  Quiet 

VsJ        ©/  (9 


Two  chambers  has  the  heart 

And  within 
Dwell  Joy  and  Grief  apart. 

When  Joy  in  hers  awaketh 

Grief  ever 
His  silent  slumber  taketh. 

Oh  Joy  do  thou  beware! 

Sing  lightly 
Lest  Grief  may  wake;  take  care! 


XZ-P, 


The  whistling  South-wind  comes  along; 

The  Autumn  leaves,  in  their  colors  gay, 
Dance  and  follow  his  wordless  song, 

As  those  children  dressed  for  their  holiday, 
Followed  the  Piper  of  Hameln  town 

Over  the  hillsides,  up  and  down. 

The  water-rats  and  squirrels  gray 

Run  to  the  musical  piper's  voice 
To  go  wherever  he  leads  the  way 

While  birds  and  insects  all  rejoice, 
As  he  were  the  Piper  of  Hameln  town, 

When  the  grass  grows  dry  and  the  branches  brown, 

Would  I  could  follow  that  music  too 

Into  oblivion,  far  beyond 
The  winter  of  life,  with  this  motly  crew 

Obeying  the  beck  of  the  magic  wand; 
But  there  is  no  Piper  of  Hameln  town 

Can  lead  to  the  Lethe  where  I  may  drown. 


Wi 


c, 


The  fellows  often  wonder  how  it  was  that  Bobby 
Taylor  chose  a  wife  such  as  he  has.  I  mean  to 
say  nothing  against  Mrs.  Taylor,  for,  like  all  women 
she  is  heavenly,  charming,  perfect,  etc.,  but  never- 
theless it  seems  queer  to  all  of  us  that  little  Bobby 
took  her.  I  learned  the  reason  of  it  all  in  a  very 
odd  way.  I  shall  not  tell  you  how  I  learned  it,  but 
I  tell  you  with  pleasure  how  it  was  that  Bobby  won 
his  better-half.  I'll  give  you  an  inkling,  though,  as 
to  how  I  heard  it  all,  so  that  you  may  know  my  tale 
is  true.  I  live  in  the  same  fashionable,  private  ho- 
tel as  Bobby  does,  only  I  am  up  in  the  eighth  story, 
and  he  and  his  wife  are  down,  down  below  me,  in 
the  matter  of  floors,  but  way,  way  up  in  the  matter 
of  society.  There  are  several  pretty  housemaids,  as 
is  proper,  at  this  hotel,  and  one  of  them  is  pleased 
to  take  a  motherly  interest  in  me,  and  I  am  grateful. 
From  red-cheeked  Maggie  I  have  the  following  tale, 
sad  or  merry,  just  as  you  choose  to  look  at  it. 


-  40  - 

Just  here  I  would  say:  you  miserable,  would-be 
gens  de  condition,  who  infest  big,  private  hotels, 
lookout  for  the  housemaids,  who  often  come  pretty 
near  to  your  family  skeletons  with  their  feather 
dusters.  You  may  be  sure  that  they  know  a  few  of 
its  bones,  at  the  very  least,  and  if  a  handsome  young 
fellow,  like  myself,  live  in  the  attic,  you  may  be 
sure  he  knows  also.  That's  the  way  of  the  world. 

Bob  is  five  feet  three  in  his  high-heeled  boots, 
a  fat,  jolly,  (he  was  once)  roily-poly  dandy,  whom 
everybody  liked  and  petted,  men  as  well  as  women. 
Mrs.  Bob  is  near  six  feet  in  her,  her,  her — well,  her 
black  silk  stockings,  thin,  sharp,  sour,  cross-grained, 
ugly,  but  charming,  of  course,  as  all  women  are. 

"And  they  were  married!" 

Boys  at  school,  heed  the  moral  of  this  true  tale! 
It  shall  show  a  moral  somewhere,  and,  I  hope,  save 
you.  Bob  was  a  bad  boy  at  school;  he  worried  the 
French  master  with  his  verbs,  drew  anathemas  in- 
stead of  blessing  for  his  mathematics,  while  his 
translations  of  Horace  were  execrable  beyond  all. 
Had  he  learned  his  Horace  better  he  might  have 
known  the  world  better,  though  the  all-singing  Hor- 
ace gives  no  quotation  apropos  to  poor  Bob's  pre- 
sent situation.  Professor  Scribere,  though,  had  the 
worst  of  it  to  contend  with,  and  could  vent  his  rage 
in  mellifluent  Italian  only  over  the  awful  scrawls  of 


Master  Bobby.  No  portrait  of  Bobby  Taylor  will 
ever  appear  in  the  back  pages  of  our  magazines  to 
show  the  benefits  derived  from  various  compendiums. 
Too  late!  Too  late!  I  do  not  know  the  god  who 
presides  over  penmanship,  unless  it  be  some  one  of 
those  sacred  Capitoline  geese  whose  quills  may  have 
served  the  Roman  priests  after  wax  tablets  went  out 
of  style. 

Bob's  writing  looked  more  like  sound  waves  than 
anything  else,  and,  as  far  as  being  intelligible  is  con- 
cerned, might  be  termed  a  visible  cackle. 

Providence  gave  quills  to  geese,  but  no  hands; 
gave  hands  to  man  but  no  quills.  Man,  of  course, 
must  needs  take  those  same  quills,  and  make  a 
goose  of  himself;  thus  are  Divine  arrangements 
knocked  to  pieces.  When  that  first,  ill-fated  hotel 
was  opened  at  beautiful  Monterey,  Mrs.  Bob  (then 
Miss  Eva  Ready),  was  among  the  guests.  Bobby  at 
that  time  was  in  his  first  long  trowsers.  Years  passed. 
Bobby's  coat  grew  tails,  and  he  waltzed  in  the  new 
Del  Monte,  no  longer  a  polliwig,  for  strangely  the 
human  male  reverses  the  order  of  his  amphibious 
friends  when  he  dons  the  toga  virilis.  Mrs.  Bob 
was  still  there  and  still  Eva  Ready,  and  people  be- 
gan to  make  impudent  puns  on  her  name.  Bobby 
Taylor  was  tender-hearted  and  a  gentleman,  and  so 
picked  out  the  most  neglected  girl  in  the  room,  who 


-  42  - 

was,  of  course,  Miss  Ready.  Each  year  left  her 
higher  and  dryer  upon  the  beach,  and  she  grew 
sharper  and  sourer  as  she  realized  that  the  haughti- 
ness and  ill-temper  of  her  first  seasons  were  bearing 
their  fruits.  It  was  an  awful  situation  and  called 
for  an  heroic  remedy. 

Bobby  often,  during  this  last  season,  wrote  Miss 
Ready  notes  to  make  arrangements  for  Saturdays 
and  Sundays,  the  only  days  on  which  he  was  able 
to  be  with  his  people  at  Monterey,  for  Bobby  was  a 
bank  clerk  (let  me  note  a  miracle  here;  his  books 
were  like  copperplate),  and  a  bank  clerk  is  a  fellow 
who  has  no  more  freedom  than  a  grocer's  clerk — 
pardon  me  my  dear  gens  de  condition,  I  know  it  is  so 
short  a  time  since  you  left  the  smell  of  your  shop  to 
rule  railways  and  walk  with  princes  that  such  allus- 
ions hurt  you.  Bobby  wrote  many  indecipherable 
notes  during  the  season,  but  Eva,  having  no  engage- 
ment to  interfere,  was  always  ready.  Bobby  waited 
on  other  girls  also,  but  Eva's  lonely  situation  touch- 
ed him. 

At  last  the  denouement  came,  a  stunner  to  every- 
body, but  most  of  all  to  poor  Bobby  Taylor.  He 
wrote  a  note  in  his  "off-hand"  style,  and  sent  it 
down  by  Eva's  brother. 


-43- 

"DEAR  Miss  READY:  I  cannot  come  down  on  the  morning 
train,  as  I  promised,  but  will  be  on  the  3:30.  Please  be  at 
the  hop  early,  by  nine  sure.  I  have  some  jolly  friends  with 
me;  we  will  have  a  sail  to-morrow.  You  can  answer  me  at 
the  dance.  Be  sure  to  say  yes. 

Yours,  EGBERT  TAYLOR." 

Eva  received  it  and  read  it  through.  I  don't 
know  whether  she  got  the  intended  sense  from  the 
scrawl,  but  she  flew  with  radiant  face  to  her  mother. 

"Robert  Taylor  has  proposed  to  me!"  she  cried; 
"Oh,  mother  dear!"  and  mother  and  daughter  shed 
tears  of  gratitude  together. 

It  was  not  long  before  her  brother  knew,  and  all 
her  female  friends.  All  this  time  poor  Bobby  was 
rolling  along  forty  miles  an  hour  to  his  fate. 

The  next  scene  in  this  tragedy,  (or  comedy,  if  you 
will,)  is  the  ball-room  at  Del  Monte,  the  time  9  P. 
M.  Very  few  are  as  yet  in  the  room  at  this  unusual 
hour.  Besides  a  large  pot  of  date  palms  sits,  eager- 
ly watching,  Miss  Eva  Ready  in  pink  and  white, 
Bobby  Taylor  enters  and  walks  up  to  his  guillotine. 
"Robert,  my  own,"  is  the  greeting  which  startle's  his 
ears.  "Your  letter  is  in  my  hand.  I  will  read  it 
through  to  you,  for  I  love  each  word  so,  that  we 
must  share  it."  Bobby  sits  by  her  side  in  wonder. 
He  thinks  the  wine  at  dinner  must  have  gone  to  his 
head. 


-  44  — 

"DEAK  Mrss  READY:  ('You  may  call  me  Eva  now,'  she 
adds,  smiling  archly,) — I  cannot  be  down  on  the  morning 
train,  as  I  promised,  but  will  come  at  3:30.  Please,  please 
promise  to  be  mine,  O  love.  I  have  never  dared  to  ask  be- 
fore. We  will  be  so  happy  forever.  You  must  answer  me  at 
the  dance.  Be  sure  and  say  yes." 

Bobby  felt  a  cold,  bony  hand  clasp  his,  and  a 
voice  whisper  in  his  ear,  "Robert,  I  am  thine  own." 
"Why,  dear,"  he  would  have  added  "Miss  Ready" 
and  an  expostulation,  but  she  stopped  him.  "Dear 
Robert,  you  are  so  good;  this  letter  I  shall  treasure 
forever."  Bobby  looked  at  it.  He  saw  it  all.  It 
could,  like  a  telegram  or  Biblical  text,  be  read  in 
any  way.  He  was  lost,  lost,  lost.  Thus  is  the  wan- 
ton negligence  of  your  youth  punished  and  Professor 
Scribere  avenged.  Thus  it  was  that  Bobby  Taylor 
won  his  wife,  or  she  won  him.  So  Maggie,  the 
housemaid,  told  me  this  morning,  as  she  dusted  the 
window-sill  of  my  fashionable  attic. 


He  does  not  choose  a  single  flower 

And  gaze  at  it  alone, 
He  does  not  praise  two  twinkling  stars 

As  if  no  others  shone. 

Though  he  like  beef  he  may  like  quail, 

Two  very  different  things; 
And  need  it  follow  he  hates  ale 

Because  champagne  he  sings? 

Blue  eyes  he  loves  and  he  loves  gray, 
While  black  seem  just  as  fair 

And  he  may  praise  on  any  day 
Both  brown  or  golden  hair. 

Thus  sing  he  may  all  shades  of  red 
Or  tresses  bleached  or  blue 

E'en  worship  some  false-fronted  head 
And  still  to  all  be  true. 

But  surely  some  hard  fate  awaits, 
Far  worse  than  Adam's  fall, 

The  man  so  mean  he'll  take  no  half 
Because  he  can't  have  all. 


OF   TH-, 


